


The Lions and the Lambs (Ain't Sleeping Yet)

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11212014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Routine.





	The Lions and the Lambs (Ain't Sleeping Yet)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song The Well and the Lighthouse by The Arcade Fire.
> 
> Verycoolperson, Whynotmyart, boma (whatever your name is this week, bby) is to thank for the fantastic art. I'm in actual tears over it. Please send her some love over on tumblr: http://bomacian.tumblr.com

There is a figure on the beach. Immobile. Unmoving. Jack swallows. Looks down at it. Impossible to tell what exactly it is from this distance, all the way up in his room right under the lantern gallery.

He squints against the fog.

His hands rest on the glass. Cool and soothing against his aching palms.

Outside the seagulls scream in the grey morning light. The sea crashes. The body, the dead thing, the seaweed, is just out of reach of the rough, rolling waves.

Jack sighs.

He fetches his coat.

\--

The pebbles crunch beneath his feet, the heavy soles of his boots. No tourist beach this, no sand, no rest. Crabs, disturbed by his crossing, unabashed by his size, pinch at his heels, at the drag of his laces.

Jack ignores them. He stumbles down the hill toward the form.

But when he gets there, to where he would swear he had seen it, the thing is gone.

He casts about, half-heartedly. Not convinced it was a body. Not fully convinced it wasn't. Wouldn't be the first drowned thing to surface on his unforgiving stretch of shore.

Angela would make fun of him at the thought. Call him morbid. Jack shakes his head, tucks his chin into his coat, shielding his face from the sea air. The bite of it, frigid off the water.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe it's just his morbid imagination playing tricks on him.

Jack begins his walk back up to the lighthouse. This time the crabs do not bother him. The gulls do not cry. As he reaches the door, as he turns to stare out into the restless sea, something moves within the waves. Something limp, caught in the undertow, being dragged out.

His hand tightens on his door handle.

The waves splash upon the shore and whatever it is, whatever it was, is swallowed by the fog.

Jack turns away.

He does not look back.

\--

"That is kind of strange, I suppose," Angela says. She leans against the bar, her fingers tapping against the hardwood. "You sure you saw something?"

"I dunno. Didn't wash back up, whatever it was so...maybe not."

She grins, reaches out to tweak his cap, pinching the bill, pulling it down to cover his eyes. "Maybe just your morbid imagination," she says. "You want another, or do you think it'll make more boogeyman for you."

"Another," he says. "And then I should..."

Angela nods. Turns to grab a bottle from the counter behind her. Colorless. Vodka in a dirty glass, dingy like everything else around here. Foggy.

He's the only customer at the time of day and it's sort of nice. Quiet. Occasionally there will be sailors, strangers, tucked into the corners, drinking until their ship leaves again; but Jack has never seen one of the villagers here this early.

He tips the glass against his lips. The vodka is cheap, burns against his tongue, prickles in his nose as he swallows it down.

The glass clinks as he places it against the counter. The sound feels muted somewhat, less sharp than it should be. Angela touches his wrist.

"Are you okay, Jack?" she asks. All seriousness in her expression. Frowning a little bit.

"I...yeah. I uhhh. I'm fine. It was nothing, I'm sure."

Probably nothing. Someone's clothes caught in the drift. It's not like Jack could see the pale dead flesh or the torn up skin, nibbled away by fish and crabs and--

Jack tears him mind from that line of thought.

He removes his hand from Angela's. Her cold fingertips patter against the counter, nails clicking against the wood, and this time the sound is as it should be, sharp.

"We need to find you a girl," Angela says as he stands and puts on his coat. "Being alone like you are all the time is bad for you."

He swallows, he looks away. He can feel himself blushing, damned Irish genes.

"I'm not lonely," he says. He shoots her a grin, tucking his chin into the collar of his jacket. She crosses her arms as he opens the heavy wood door of the bar. Wisps of fog slipping through the opening. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ange."

Her answer, whatever it may be, is lost as he lets the door shut behind him.

\--

Lighting the lighthouse is a task of rout memory.

Jack winds the gears that will keep the lens rotating around the kerosene flame. The clockwork innards, ticking away. What keeps the light shining out over the ocean.

In three hours, Jack will come down and wind it again.

And then again, three hours later.

Or maybe it has been three hours. Maybe this is first time winding it this night, or his eighth, one hundredth. Jack turns the gears, his palm prints are embedded in the crank. Or were they there before he got here.

Time is relative in the guts of the lighthouse.

He stands on the balcony that overlooks the sea. He is a silhouette in the beam. A shadow. A ghost.

He stares down at the waves that he cannot see. He can hear them below him. Knocking against the rocks. If he were to fall, if he were to jump, would the ocean drag him out. Would anyone wonder where he went. His head cracked open, his body snapped.

He blinks.

The clockwork ticks.

Three hours. It's been three hours. He takes the stairs down to the mechanical room.

He winds the gears.

He winds the gears.

\--

"Who is that?" Jack asks of the man in the corner. He doesn't know why he asks. Angela gives the visiting sailors booze, she makes no effort to learn their names or their stories.

She follows his gaze.

The man is dark, with a hat pulled low over his eyes. Square jawed, large-knuckled. He's drinking beer, frothy topped, the foam sticks in his goatee.

And Jack cannot look away.

"I dunno," Angela says. She wipes the counter down, tucks the rag into her apron. "Out of towner. Looks like trouble if you ask me."

"Why would you say that?"

She rolls her head. Her hands move back and forth over one another. Small town prejudices; she never seemed the type.

"It's an aura. I don't know. I'm worried about you. Have you been feeling okay?"

Jack finishes his drink. He shrugs. "I'm fine, Ange. Another."

She passes him another, wordless. Jack takes it without meeting her gaze.

He approaches the man in the corner. The rum rolls in his limbs, down his arms. Downed too quickly. He wasn't thinking straight, the appearance of this man has him rattled.

Effected for reasons he can't even define.

Something down in the depths, twitching toward the light. Curling like a sea creature, bubbling.

"Hello," he says.

It's nice to see you. He doesn't add that part. It sits under his tongue and itches.

The man looks up. His eyes are brown, dark and deep.

He tips his beer. He takes a sip. There is a scar on his chin, another on his nose, like artist lines that never got erased. Things formed that have been forgotten.

"May I sit?"

The man takes a breath. The edges of his eyes tighten. "I guess," he says. He doesn't sound familiar. The deja vu fades.

Jack sits. He drinks his rum.

The light through the windows gets longer and longer.

"Shouldn't you go soon?" the man asks.

"What?"

"It's getting dark and you're the...someone has to keep the lantern lit right? Else the ships'll wreck."

"How did you know I was--"

"She said it," the man points to Angela, watching the two of them from behind the bar. "Asked how the lighthouse was keeping when you came in. Didn't mean to eavesdrop but...it's a small room."

"Yeah. Are you...new here?"

The man appraises him. Jack can feel the scrutiny. The narrowed eyes. "Passing through," he says. "A day, maybe two. Whenever the ship sets out again."

"Better places then here to see, I'm sure."

"I don't know about all that but...places, yeah."

Jack finishes his drink. "I'll cover your tab, just. Uhm. Let Ange know when you're...settling up."

"You don't have to do that."

"May as well. Small town hospitality and all that."

"Isn't this the part where you invite me back to your place?" the man asks. His eyes flash. His teeth are white, white, white. Bones, stripped bare by the tide.

"Excuse me."

"I mean you can dance around it if you want but...I'm down for it if you are. Should we--I dunno. Talk about how interested I am to see how the lighthouse works. Cogs and wheels. Shards of glass. Would that make it easier?"

Jack takes a breath. His lungs expand. The rum is rushing to all the wrong places, his throat and his face and his knees.

Angela watches them.

"Okay," Jack says. "I can give you the tour."

\--

Jack turns the crank. The clockwork wheels clank and roll.

"Interesting," the man says. He touches the gold gilt lettering on the plaque next to the door. "Gibraltar," he reads. His nails catch on the t, Jack turns to watch him. "The end of the known world."

"What?"

"It's what it used to mean. The rock of Gibraltar, the end of the known."

"Oh."

The man swallows. He slips out of his coat, pulls the pullover over his head. Jack's mouth is dry. The clockwork ticks away.

"I never do this kind of thing," the man says as he tugs off his pants.

"Me neither," Jack says. Stepping closer. The lattice work floor beneath him feels like it could fall away at anytime. "I don't...I don't know how to--"

"Then let me lead. The name is Gabe, Jack."

Did he tell him that? Jack no longer remembers. It doesn't matter anyway.

Gabe's mouth is hot and wet and real and grounding. He pulls Jack against him and nothing matters at all anymore.

\--

His cock is hot like a brand. Jack arches and hisses, his thighs flex and strain.

Gabriel beneath him, above him, around him. Lips and teeth and foreign pounding pulse. Jack comes between their bodies, across his own stomach, across Gabe's mouth. He comes until he cannot any longer, until the pleasure leaves him raw and trembling.

Sticky.

Sweaty.

And Gabriel holds him through it. He pets Jack's hair, kisses his temple. His biceps swell, there are scars on the skin.

Jack floats, more comfortable than he has been in a long while.

He holds his hand against Gabe's chest. Curls his fingers in the hair across his pecs. The gold cross Gabe wears leaves an impression in Jack's skin. Crucifixes down his arms.

"I've missed you," he says.

Gabe blinks, he grins. "You've missed sex, you mean? You sure seemed to need it."

"No...I..."

"I'm kidding," Gabe says. He touches Jack's chin. Pinches the point between his thumb and pointer. "You're too serious, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Guess you'd have to be. You've got peoples' lives in your hands after all."

Jack sighs. Three hours is only an hour away. He closes his eyes. "Can we...not talk about this?"

"Sure." Gabe rolls the two of them. Jack is not small, Gabe moves him like it is nothing. Spoons up behind him. His soft cock rests on the curve of Jack's ass.

"Get some rest," Gabe murmurs. He kisses the back of Jack's neck. His nose brushes the hair at the base of Jack's skull.

\--

Jack awakens.

He walks to the room beneath the gallery. He turns the crank. Above him the mirrors spin. The kerosene feeds. The light flares, warns, and today people do not die.

When he returns to bed, Gabe is not there.

Was he ever there?

Jack touches the blankets, the disturbed pillows, the sweat-drenched sheets. The quilt is missing. Jack heads up to the lantern gallery.

Gabriel, wrapped in only that quilt, stands on the balcony and stares out at the sea. In the night the fog is not so all encompassing. The air is frigid, the wind coming off the sea.

Jack's skin prickles. Pinpoints like stars down his arms, across his stomach. Somewhere a gull is complaining. Screaming unseen in the night.

Gabe turns. In the darkness his skin is nearly luminous.

"Jeeze, Jack," he says, grinning, opening his arms to offer the blanket. "You must be freezing."

Jack steps into the circle of his arms. They are too close in height, Jack's nose bumps against Gabe's, their legs tangle.

"I thought maybe you had left."

"Just a light sleeper."

"But you're going to leave."

Gabe has the decency to blush. His eyes flutter shut. "That's...sort of the point of these things, isn't it? Not to form attachments?"

"That what you tell all the girls in port?"

"I told you, I don't...do this kind of thing usually. You're special I guess, Jack."

You're special, you're lucky, you've always been, Jack.

It's Gabe's voice. Clear and hurt. Jack blinks, he leans his head against Gabe's collar. The chain from his cross indents his forehead.

"I'm not special."

"You're hot then, musta been that."

"Will you stay?"

"Don't have anywhere else to go tonight if that's what you're asking."

"No. No. I mean, stay. I-I-I can't explain it but..."

"Don't be silly. You don't know anything about me. I could be a...a mass murderer. I could eat people's souls for a living."

"I know you kiss good," Jack offers. 

I know I loved you.

And what, Gabe's voice says in his head, I'll just be the strike-commander's bed warmer while you make all the fucking decisions for my team, Jack.

The body on the beach and the lighthouse made of sand and the whole picture is tilting to the side, someone has hung the frame wrong. The tide is coming.

The tide is coming and Jack cannot withstand it.

Gabe kisses him. Gabe takes the cue, unaware of the way things are crumbling around them. His tongue against Jack's teeth, tracing the edges.

"I thought you might be tired," he whispers against Jack's lips. "Coming four times is--"

"Not enough." Jack clings to him. Their freezing skin pressed together. "Take me inside. I wanna feel you for days."

"Cheesy," Gabriel says with a grin.

But he still pushes Jack down on the bed when they get there--down the steps how did they get here? Jack cannot remember--he nips at Jack's skin, teeth against the cold, cold flesh.

He licks a stripe from Jack's balls to the base of his spine.

He takes Jack apart with his tongue and his fingers.

He fucks him, deep and brutal thrusts that have Jack's head slamming into the headboard and threaten to bring the glass castle tumbling about their ears.

\--

Jack awakens.

His internal clock is chiming the three hour mark.

Gabriel is snoring lightly beside him.

Jack sits up. He holds the pillow between his palms and studies Gabe's face. He closes his eyes.

He winds the gears.

In the morning will there be a body on the beach? In the morning will Jack even remember this?

Gabe's hips between his thighs, bucking up and bucking up. Fighting him. It's not peaceful.

The indent of the crucifix, cut into Jack's palms. Stigmatas. Doubting Thomases. He puts the pillow aside, the spit stains could be sweat.

He winds the gears.

He returns to his empty bed.

He sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> "Resurrected, living in a lighthouse  
> If you leave then the ships are going to wreck  
> Resurrected, living in that lighthouse  
> The lions and the lambs ain't sleeping yet"
> 
> Come see my other work and say hi here at my shiny new writing blog: https://vrunkawrites.tumblr.com


End file.
